


Flesh And Bone

by IAmTheWinterAssassin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Gore, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6229885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheWinterAssassin/pseuds/IAmTheWinterAssassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if your loved one is dying and the only people who can help them are the same people who banished you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Stay with me, Nat. Please,” Danse’s voice felt harsh against the sudden silence that had followed their battle with a nest of super mutants. He could see the scene replaying over and over again in his head as he tried to figure out what to address first on Natasha’s broken body. 

There had been a loud crack and Danse couldn’t tell if it was Natasha’s skull or splintering wood as the board came in contact with the side of her head. He felt like he was moving through water, his actions, his voice, his gun too slow to take down the creature that had attacked her. He emptied his entire clip into the monster’s head as her body slacking against the cement. Now she was on the ground, blood pooling beneath her like some gory waterfall as the plasma seeped through a crack in the side of her head. Hair was matted to her face, a large cut stretching from the corner of her mouth to her temple. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head, her breathing was shallow and he could swear he heard a gurgling in her chest. The mutant had taken a few more swings at her after she hit the ground, Danse being too desperate to take it down to have been paying too much attention.

“Natasha, Natasha say something,” he was trying his best to keep his voice even as he fished for any kind of medical supply out of his bag but as he grasped a stimpack and pulled off the needle cap he could see his hands shaking. 

“Pistons, pumps, nuts and bolts, these are the things we build with,” Danse quietly sang the jingle that Natasha had made up under his breath. She used to sing it when she was working on her power armor. Singing. Some of the soldiers back on the Prydwyn sang, sure, but none of them as openly as Natasha. Her tunes were silly, they rarely rhymed and sounded like something you’d sing to young children, but she never shyed away from those who rolled their eyes at her. 

His hands were unsteady, his breath still heavy as he tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart, or whatever it was that kept him alive in his chest. He pressed the needle into her skin, the contents emptying as he moved onto his next task. The wound needed to be inspected better, if he had his power armor he could have used the light on the helmet, but instead all he had was the fading sun as he gently as possible moved the hair away from the wound. The gashes weren’t as deep as he had anticipated, still a cut through flesh and fat but it could be taken care of with stitches. He moved to her chest and abdomen, her breathing was labored and he could hear liquid in her lungs, sure enough when he finally lifted the tattered white shirt up he could see black and blue bruising under the skin. Blood was flooding her chest, she had broken ribs and possibly a punctured lung. This wasn’t good, this was the furthest thing from good. 

Danse’s throat was tight as he sat back, trying to work through the shock that filled his head. He was much too far from the Castle or Sanctuary; even Diamond City and Goodneighbor would be too far, she’d never make it. He wasn’t used to the prickling feeling in his fingertips and toes, the swelling of his throat or the tears that stung his eyes. He should be able to administer basic aid, get her back to the Prydwyn…. The Prydwyn. He had to get her back to the Brotherhood. He was banished by Maxson, thought dead by everyone else, he couldn’t be seen by them. 

Danse made up his mind, reaching into the bag and pulling out a smoke grenade, he tossed it away from them by a few feet. After a pop the blue smoke began to billow into the sky, they’d be here soon. He began to pack up Natasha’s things, shoving them away in her bag when a shaking hand seized his forearm. 

“No. They’ll—kill —you, die—they,” her words were slurred, her green eyes struggling to focus on him as he gently moved from her grip. 

“You have brain damage and internal bleeding, if you don’t go you’ll die here. I can’t allow that,” he clipped the backpack closed and slung it over his shoulder before moving to collect her off of the ground.

“Danse—I– you,” she couldn’t form the right words, her mouth was moving but nothing would come out. She had a concussion at the least, a bleeding brain at the most. 

“I know. I love you too,” he said arranging her on the dirty ground in the clearing. He cushioned her head with a rolled up jacket before he held her face in his hands.

“Love,” she muttered, her eyes finally closing.

Danse’s heart was racing, he could still see the pained rise and fall of her chest, but the way her body looked so mangled he couldn’t help but feel the pain as if she were dead. There was the sound of blades chopping at the air in the distance, no doubt a Vertibird on its way towards the smoke. Danse leaned down, pressing his lips to her cracked bloody ones before withdrawing, pulling the beanie Nat had made for him down over his ears. The weather was getting colder, a storm was most definitely on the horizon, the chilly air nipped at his nose and cheeks but all he felt was numb. 

There was this strange feeling in his stomach as he walked away from Natasha, heading for the cover of a long overgrown cottage. He had never left a soldier behind, never abandoned his team, and yet he was literally turning his back on the woman he loves. Of course the circumstances were much more complicated than that, and his walking away was going to save her life, but there would always the implications playing over and over in his head. You left her behind, you couldn’t protect her, you weren’t enough. Danse nestled himself among the ivy that crawled across the walls and had devoured a broken down dresser, a position that he could still see Natasha from but was unperceivable by the Brotherhood soldiers. 

It wasn’t long before the Vertibird touched down, a power armored Knight as well as a Scribe stepped down into the dust cloud that the turbines were kicking up. The Scribe immediately began assessing Natasha, moving here and there over her still body while the Knight monitored the site with a minigun. Danse watched through binoculars as the Scribe checked each wound before she finally sat back, saying something to the Knight before shaking her head. Danse’s stomach lurched at the gesture, too many questions spiraling through his guilt ridden head as the Scribe unloaded a backboard from the Vertibird. 

Once Natasha was secure both the Knight and the Scribe slid her on deck and soon enough they were off again, carrying Natasha to a place Danse couldn’t follow. He watched it as far as he could before it was too obstructed by afternoon fog. He sat motionless under the Ivy, the tightness in his throat had yet to go away and the pins and needles in his fingertips had spread to his extremities. He didn’t really realize he was crying until he was burying his face in his hands and he could barely breathe through the sobs that wracked his body. He was slumped against the half crumbling wall, the beanie pulled form his head and now knotting between his hands. What if she dies on the way to the Prydwyn? Or they couldn’t help her once she was there? Would Maxson be decent enough to contact everyone in Sanctuary? Would she die cold and alone without him there to comfort her? Every thought twisted the knife of grief in Danse’s gut, so much so that a bullet to the head would probably hurt less.

Danse sat back at the thought, a dark shadow twisting through his brain as he pulled the meager 10mm side arm form its holster at his side. It felt heavy in his hands, much too heavy for him to be holding. Maybe it wasn’t the object itself that weighted it but what it meant to be holding it at such a desperate time. His fingers tightened and loosened around it, like he was fighting his own body for control. He shoved the pistol back into its holster. You don’t know if she’s dead. He needed to know for sure, he couldn’t make any rash decisions and leave her alone again. 

Danse pulled himself into the waning daylight, his eyes bleary from the tears. Maxson wouldn’t give a courtesy call to the people of Sanctuary, he didn’t know what Natasha meant to them. To Maxson, the Brotherhood was her family, whether she knew it or not. But if the Minutemen were informed that their General was wounded in combat and currently being treated by the Brotherhood then maybe Maxson would have some kind of respect for their organization, even if that respect was very little. He needed to speak with Preston, he’d want to know that his best friend had been downed, outside of his official duties as the Minutemen’s second in command. The Castle wasn’t too far from where he was currently, maybe half a nights walk if he started now. Danse did his best to smooth out the beanie which he had wrung tight, pulling it on and adjusting his pack on his shoulders before turning towards the old fortress in the distance.


	2. Somewhere Over the Rainbow

“I need to speak with Lieutenant Garvey,” Danse stopped the first Minuteman he could find as soon as he was within the Castle walls. 

The walk back had been agonizing to say the least, there was a sharp bruise beneath his armor from where a bullet had hit it, a straining in his knee where it had come in contact with one of those super mutant boards, but it wasn’t his physical body that hurt so much. He kept drinking water but his head still throbbed angrily, he couldn’t focus as he stumbled over fallen trees and hidden debris below the thick tufts of grass that had reclaimed everything in its path. He kept low and quiet which wasn’t hard in the sparse light of dusk, avoiding conflict where he could, picking off bloat flies and radroaches where he couldn’t. When he finally made it back to the Castle it was like he had kicked into over drive, he pushed up the slight incline to the front gates, his exhausted body fighting him the whole way. The Minutemen had graciously let Danse join their ranks, it was the only place he felt he could put his skills to work and make a real difference after everything that had happened with the Brotherhood. Two guards at the gate let him pass without another look, which was something he was infinitely grateful for; on top of letting him join no one seemed to look down on him for his past. 

The Minuteman he had grabbed was young, maybe eighteen at the oldest. Lanky, slightly gaunt looking with black hair and dark eyes. He seemed slightly shaken by Danse’s insistent tone, turning to him and shifting awkwardly as he tried to comprehend his question.

“I’m not sure where he is right now, but I’m sure that the quartermaster could help you,” he said with a voice that seemed to match his young appearance.

“No, no. I need to see Preston,” Danse struggled to keep his voice even as the young man seemed to tug nervously at the sleeve of his jacket.

“You can talk to Pearl, she runs the radios now, she could probably call him,” he offered, seeming to want to stop the conversation as soon as possible.

Danse began to walk off before returning after a few steps “Thank you,” he said with an affirmative nod. It was something Natasha had suggested after Danse noticed he was getting the cold shoulder from some of the settlers back in Sanctuary. He never wanted to seem disrespectful or dismissive of anyone he just simply forgot sometimes. The boy quirked a small uneasy smile before Danse headed towards the small shack that had been built around the radio tower. 

The shack was a modest little building, big enough for a table, locker, bed and little else. It used to be a duty handed off between different Minutemen until Pearl came along and essentially volunteered to take care of radio communication 24/7. She kept the space clean, seeing as she had the only other private room in the entire compound outside of the General’s quarters she seemed to have a need to prove that she wouldn’t soil it. Pearl sat at the small desk, a large pad of paper in front of her with various conversations transcribed in shorthand and possibly encoded. She was maybe in her mid-thirties, short blond hair, bright blue eyes behind large glasses and of slender build, hunched over her writing, one hand pressing her earphone closer to her head and the other with a pencil hovering over her records.

Danse closed the door behind him, hoping the click of the latch would be enough to rouse her form her work but she only stared straight ahead seemingly waiting for something. Danse cleared his throat but once again she didn’t even flinch.

“Pearl?” Danse set a hand on her shoulder and she nearly shot right out of her chair, pulling the entire radio off of the desk with her. 

“Oh dear, oh my, o-ho gosh. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” she pulled off the headphones and straightened the radio back on the desk, switching it over to speakers so she didn’t miss anything while they spoke.

“Danse, correct?” she asked, adjusting her glasses on her slender nose.

“Yes, I need to speak with Lieutenant Garvey, it’s urgent,” any other day Danse might have tried out that ‘small talk’ Natasha had told him so much about but today was not one of those days. 

“O-oh yes of course,” her face set into a seriousness that might have been comical in any other circumstance as she took her seat back in front of her radio.  
She spun the dials, landing on each adjustment of the signal almost as if on instinct. She was silent for a while, the fuzzy squeal of the radio filling the small room until finally the line cleared and Pearl pulled the received up to her mouth.

“Lieutenant Garvy, do you read me?” 

Silence.

“This is Lieutenant Garvy, over.” 

“Private Danse is requesting a meeting with you, over.”

“Now?”

Pearl looked up at Danse who up until this point had been staring intently at the little orange HAM radio as if doing so would help them get in contact with Preston easier. 

“Yes. There has been an emergency regarding the General,” Danse explained.

“Correct, he says there’s and emergency regarding the General,” she relayed. 

There was silence for another few seconds.

“I’m on my way back, over.” 

“Copy that,” Pearl sat back and looked up at Danse with a questioning look.

“Thank you, I’ll be in the General’s quarters,” Danse turned on his heels and headed out, putting on a stone face as his skin met the cool night air. 

The breeze that billowed around The Castle had a chill to it only close proximity to the ocean could bring, and with it was the tang of salt on his tongue and a stinging in the corner of his eyes as he made his way inside the walls. He passed a few higher ranking officers, giving a respectful yet curt nod to each of them. When Natasha brought Danse to the Minutemen she offered him a higher ranking position, opting for him to be by her side more often instead of starting at the bottom, but Danse had vehemently denied. If he was going to truly start over he wanted it to be like every other recruit and as a stipulation he asked that Preston promoted him when the time came, not Natasha. It wasn’t because he lacked respect for her or that he thought she couldn’t separate duty from personal interests, but rather because he wanted to fit in with everyone. He didn’t tell Natasha that. He told her it was because he wanted to feel like he wasn’t being handed promotions for being figuratively and literally in bed with the General. Natasha merely looked at him with that crooked little smirk that she gave everyone who was giving her the run around and approved of his request. 

Natasha had reworked the General’s quarters to look more like a home than a meeting place. There was a large square table in the middle of the room with a map of the Commonwealth neatly splayed out in the middle with various heavy objects holding down the corners. On it were small figures made of spare parts from her power armor, each one marking a settlement. Notes were scattered on one side of the map, as well as a collection of more spare parts, some of them painted red to represent points of interest. Currently there was a red piece placed over the junkyard Danse had just hiked away from, something about the rusty color making his stomach churn. He gently pulled the marker off of the map, the weight in his hands seeming too heavy, like everything else around him. He replaced it with an unpainted piece, before returning the red one to the pile. The rest of the room seemed awfully cold without Natasha’s warmth, the double bed lying made and stiff, the curio cabinet that was usually open showcasing the various vintage alcohol that she had collected was shut firmly, the arrangement of couches and end tables that were usually covered in clothing, maps and power armor parts was void of anything out of place. Natasha was messy while in motion, always setting things down as her brain jumped from one task to another, but it was always tidy by the end of the day without fail. 

To most her room looked like a well-kept military General’s quarters, to Danse it looked like a shrine to the deceased. A perfect rendition of their room that they never got to come home to. With that the doors behind Danse opened, Preston leaning in with a curious yet worried expression playing on his usually calm and friendly features.

“Danse, there you are. Where’s Natasha?” He didn’t wait to ask questions or lead with formality and Danse could see how much he cared for Natasha in that.

“There has been an accident, Natasha was gravely wounded in combat today,” Danse embodied the obedient soldier he had always seemed to fit so well as he addressed Preston with a straight back, hands folded behind himself. 

“What did the doctor say?” Preston replied as professionally as he could but Danse could see the strain on his brow as he paced to the strategy table.

“There…. Was a complication. She’s not with our doctors.”

“Then where is she?” Something about the way Preston’s eyebrows twitched up made Danse think he already knew the answer.

“On the Prydwyn. The wounds were too extensive and there was no way she would have made it to a doctor before… before she died.”

The formality in Preston’s posture dropped, he pressed gloved fingertips to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders fell and he dropped his head, doing his best as to act as if he were looking at something on the map in front of him. 

“That bad?” His voice was quiet when he spoke again.

“I’m afraid so,” Danse let his voice become softer.

“Did she even make it? Back to the Prydwyn,” Preston pulled off his hat and placed it on the table before resting his palms on the edge.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. That’s partly why I needed to speak with you.” 

Preston sighed, a weary sigh, a heavy sigh, a sigh filled with frustration and worry. Everything Danse was feeling seemed to be expressed in that one exhausted gesture and for the first time he felt like he wasn’t the only one experiencing this pain. Preston ran his fingers through his short cropped hair before straightening.

“I really don’t like dealing with Maxson, I was hoping that when the Brotherhood came to the Commonwealth we could work separately and not bother each other.”

Danse could feel the familiar need to defend the Brotherhood and its leader well up in his chest but he quickly squashed it as he reminded himself that Maxson tried to have him killed without a second thought. Not only that but he had sent Natasha, someone he had recruited in the first place and had a deep connection with.

“Maxson can be stubborn, but the Minutemen have become a force to be reckoned with and he might just respect that. I would contact him myself if it weren’t for the fact that I am not supposed to exist.”

“I understand, Danse. Setting up the connection will be easy, it’s reasoning with them that will be difficult.” 

“Perhaps I could prep you. Tell you what to say to get through to him. At least to get some kind of confirmation on Nat—the General’s condition,” it was becoming difficult to keep up the soldier and superior act with such emotions on the line, but it didn’t seem to faze Preston. 

If Maxson could have an opposite it would be Preston Garvey. Instead of brute force and a cold and calculating approach, Preston lead not only by example but through teamwork and encouragement. It had taken some time for Danse to get used to this new outfit, long gone were the days of righteous causes and rigid unquestionable guidelines and they were replaced by helping those in need no matter the task and discussing ways to improve. Danse could almost hear Maxson in his head which was where he had been firmly stationed since he took over the Brotherhood, ‘the people don’t know what they need, we are here to fulfill our duty to the Commonwealth and everyone under the Brotherhood’s charge, whether or not they disagree is none of our concern’. 

“Thank you, Danse. But I’ll handle it on my own.” 

Preston placed his hat back on his head and let out another sigh before pacing over to Danse. He rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I’m sure she’s okay, Danse. I know how much she means to you, to me, to all of us here at The Castle and in Sanctuary. We need her to be okay and until we get confirmation of her condition then we’ll keep believing she is.”

Danse nodded a tight necked nod that he felt was the only form of acknowledgement he could make without having a break down. Preston smiled, it wasn’t one of his usual smiles, this one was more sad and sympathetic. He turned, leaving Danse to himself, closing the doors to the General’s quarters and just like that Danse was alone again. He could feel the quiet weighing down on him, the air was heavy in his lungs and he could feel the dark thoughts twisting into his mind again. He dropped his jacket onto one of the chairs and moved to the curio cabinet. In one of drawers were several holotapes, all labeled with white painters tape and marker. Hi, Honey!, Russian Lullaby, Fly Me To The Moon, Mr. Sandman, The Parting Glass. Danse shuffled the tapes around, looking for a very specific cover she had performed not too long ago. Natasha was a phenomenal singer, it was her hobby and her passion, and it was something that could captivate Danse for hours on end. It wasn’t unusual to find Natasha softly singing under her breath as she worked and for Danse to be a few feet away completely and utterly entranced by her. Danse found the tape he was looking for and paced over to the terminal which was sat by the stairway to the tunnels that ran underneath the Castle.

There was a crackling and a shuffling noise as the recorder was moved into place

“Is it on?” 

Natasha’s voice rang clearly through the speakers, making Danse’s chest ache.

“Yeah, go ahead.” 

He could practically hear the smile in his voice, soft and rough from sleep. They had recorded it in the morning when he had woken up to Natasha’s singing. He insisted she record it so that he could listen to it when they were apart.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high.   
And the dreams that you dream of once in a lullaby…” 

Danse’s arms were folded across his chest, leaning back in the small wooden chair that was situated in front of the terminal. He could feel his nails digging into his forearm as the song echoed eerily through the empty quarters.

“Oh somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly.  
And the dreams that you dream of, dreams really do come true.”

Danse bit down on his shaking lip, his throat tightening as he closed his eyes and let her indulgent voice wash over him.

“Someday I wish upon a star, wake up where the clouds are far behind me  
Where trouble melts like lemon drops high above the chimney tops  
That’s where you find me, somewhere over the rainbow.”

This time around Danse let himself cry. He clasped his fingers over his mouth and his whole body shook with sobs as Natasha quietly sang. It was a strange mixture of relief and sadness as her voice chased away the darkness, yet still left a longing he couldn’t fulfil. He shoved his hand through his hair, tears rolling down his face and collecting along his jaw. He felt so weak, so vulnerable, after everything that he had been through and lived through he had never felt so alone. And since his exile he had never felt so human. 

“If happy little bluebirds fly  
Beyond the rainbow why, oh, why can't I?” 

As the song ended her voice melted into a delighted laugh as the recorder crackled again, Danse moving from where he had been lying, watching her in his flannel sitting on the end of the bed, her legs folded, hands wrapped around her ankles, eyes closed, hair tied in a messy ponytail. He had pulled her against him and peppered her cheek with kisses. He could hear her giggles, his soft chuckles before the tape clicked and ejected from the terminal and once again all was quiet.


End file.
